


Just Home Less Than I'd Like to Be

by enigma731



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Family, Flash Fic, Gen, Returning Home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 03:37:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5190719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigma731/pseuds/enigma731
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha knows this route like a childhood memory, has driven it more times than she can count, though she can’t ever remember an occasion where it felt as absolutely vital to reach their destination as it does now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Home Less Than I'd Like to Be

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Little Hell](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4026343) by [enigma731](https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigma731/pseuds/enigma731). 



> Written for [this prompt](http://shakespeare-online.com/sonnets/29.html). About halfway through writing this, I realized that it also happened to fit really well with a flash fic I wrote for an earlier round at Tower Party. So consider these companion pieces if you wish.

1.

Clint is silent from the moment they get on the road, the facade of wry stoicism he’d projected toward Loki’s departure shifted into something darker.

He begins the trip in the driver’s seat but doesn’t last even the first hour, pulls over as the signs of damage recede in the rearview mirror and his hands begin to shake despite his white-knuckled grasp on the wheel. Natasha doesn’t say anything when he does, just switches places with him in wordless understanding. She drives them into the sunset and then into the dark, stopping only for the necessities. She knows this route like a childhood memory, has driven it more times than she can count, though now she can’t ever remember an occasion where it felt as absolutely vital to reach their destination as it does now.

“Maybe we should stop and get a room for the night,” says Clint, when they’re about a mile out, passing through the last real town before suburbs give way to true farm country. 

There’s _maybe_ one dilapidated motel within a hundred mile radius and it would be ludicrous to hunt down, even if Natasha thought that was a good idea. Which it isn’t. 

“It’s almost four,” she says evenly, glancing down at the clock on the dash, though she can tell roughly what time it is by the color of the sky out here, unblemished by the lights of civilization. She’s spent enough time alone in the world to remember. “There isn’t any night left to spend.”

Clint sighs, shifts in his seat so that the side of his head hits the window with a dull, defeated _thud_. “I’m just not sure--”

“That going home right now is a good idea,” Natasha finishes before he has the chance. She’s been waiting for him to put his doubts into words all day, is actually a little surprised that he hasn’t voiced them before now, when turning back really isn’t an option anymore.

“Right,” he says tiredly, still not lifting his head, like he might be able to leave his demons on the side of the road if he just concentrates hard enough.

Natasha offers him a sad smile that he probably doesn’t see. “Do you remember what you told me, when I said that?”

He doesn’t respond, though she doesn’t think he’s forgotten, either.

“Home is the people who help you remember who you are when you need it the most,” says Natasha, and keeps driving into the dawn.

2.

“You know,” says Natasha, when Clint opens the door of the cabin, “ _I’m_ the one who’s supposed to be off the grid right now.”

He at least has the decency to give her a sheepish look before stepping back to usher her inside. “I’m on vacation.”

She rolls her eyes. “Right. Which is why you didn’t bother to notify anyone about where you were going or leave any way to contact you. And why I’ve had half a dozen frantic calls from your wife, who’s been afraid that you _died_ when the Hydra shit hit the fan.” 

Natasha doesn’t mention that she’s had the same fear for the last three days, hasn’t even had time to process the fact that her own life is now out in the world for public consumption, she’s been so singularly focused on finding him. 

Clint pales visibly, looks at his feet. “When Nick Fury recruited me, he swore S.H.I.E.L.D. would be different from the army. Promised me I’d never have to kill another innocent person, if I was good enough at knowing the difference. Turns out I never had any clue.”

Natasha crosses her arms, tries to ignore the way his words make her own stomach twist. A few days ago, she was camped out in a stranger’s apartment, saying the same thing to Steve. But that isn’t the point right now. “You think you’re the only one?”

“No,” he admits, though the look on his face tells her that he really hasn’t had the ability to consider that perspective yet. “I just--needed a few days before I could deal with the world.”

“You’re not hiding from the world,” Natasha challenges, fully aware that they both know she’s right. “You’re hiding from your wife. From your children, because you just found out that you’re not entirely who you thought you were, and now you’re not sure how you fit into their lives.”

He flinches visibly, still refusing to meet her gaze. “Don’t bother to pull any punches, Nat.”

“It’s not my punches you need to worry about right now,” says Natasha, pulling out the satellite phone she’s brought along and holding it at arm’s length.

Clint takes the phone from her and dials it resignedly, holds his breath until it connects and Laura picks up the other end of the line. 

“Hi,” he says, his shoulders finally beginning to relax ever so slightly. “I’m--You’ve heard everything on the news? I want to come home, if you’ll still have me. I just--wanted to give you some time to think about it first.”

3.

Clint stays in New York with the rest of the team until after the funeral. Two weeks after Sokovia fell from the sky, and they’ve only now finished putting their dead to rest, what with the technicalities of bringing Pietro to be buried in a place where Wanda can still be close.

With the Quinjet gone and the road to Iowa feeling insurmountably long, for once, Natasha borrows one of Tony’s personal planes, flies Clint to Iowa herself because she doesn’t entirely trust he’ll arrive in one piece otherwise. 

“It isn’t fair,” he says softly, as she puts the jet gently down in a field of late spring flowers, a carpet of color as if nature’s paying its own memorial. 

“What?” she asks, glancing sideways at him, though she already knows the answer.

“I was never supposed to be the one who got to come home,” Clint says flatly. 

“No,” she agrees, not bothering to hide the edge of sadness that’s coloring her voice today. “But if Pietro knew that someone’s father got to come home because of what he did--I think you know he would be proud.”

Clint sucks in a breath, then nods once, reaches out and squeezes her hand as he gets to his feet. Natasha keeps the plane on the ground for longer than strictly necessary, watching him walk up the path through a field of violets.

+1

When the fighting is over, and there are no more covers, or allegiances, or rift between Avengers, Natasha gets into her car and starts the familiar drive to the backdrop of an afternoon thunderstorm. It takes her three days to make the trip, not due to road conditions or her own exhaustion, but because she’s the one alone this time, trying to drive through the mire of her doubts. This time, she’s the one in need of the reminder that she is more than her actions, more than her past or present.

This time, when she arrives, the spring’s flowers are going all to seed, thin ephemeral wisps being carried into the future by the wind. The path hasn’t ever felt quite so long, but the house looks exactly as she remembers it. In the end, that’s what gives her the will to climb the porch steps and knock.

“Hi,” Natasha breathes, when Laura opens the door, the smell of bread baking and the sounds of children spilling out. “I wanted--Can I still come home?”

Laura smiles broadly and leans in for a hug. “We’ve been waiting.”


End file.
